


Seeking Something Normal

by SpicedGold



Series: The Nara Family [31]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, Moving on after loss, Post-Fourth Shinobi War, Yoshino-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicedGold/pseuds/SpicedGold
Summary: The Nara family picks up the pieces after the war.
Relationships: Nara Shikaku/ Nara Yoshino (past), Nara Shikamaru & Nara Yoshino
Series: The Nara Family [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1160966
Comments: 13
Kudos: 113





	Seeking Something Normal

Yoshino’s first nightmare after the war happened two nights after Shikamaru came home.

She woke up suddenly, body tensing, senses on high alert. Instinctively, she reached across the bed, and was abruptly reminded that she was alone in it.

And would be forever.

Yoshino rolled onto her back, blinking in the darkness.

It was a surreal feeling still, the notion that Shikaku was not asleep beside her and never would be again. They had spent so long together that wrapping her head around the idea that he wasn’t there – would never be there – had been a challenge.

She still couldn’t quite believe it.

Having someone beside you for most of your life, and then having them vanish, was too much to process.

She stood up and left the bedroom, padding silently through the house to Shikamaru’s room. She stood outside his bedroom door for a while, listening, because some nights she could hear him crying into his pillow. He never said anything about it, and she didn’t either, but she wondered if he ever hoped she would come in and comfort him, or if he would prefer that she left him alone.

It was unusual for her not to know what to do, and not know how to talk to her son.

Tonight, Shikamaru’s room was quiet, and she hoped he was sleeping peacefully. He deserved that much.

She didn’t think she would get to sleep again tonight, so she went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea, and sat quietly at the table in the darkness to think. She had to do something about Shikamaru. He had blitzed through his post-war duties before retreating into himself and barely speaking to anyone, and hardly eating, and she was worried about him.

It was understandable, of course, that he would react in such a way, but she still needed to think of some way to help him. Shikamaru had never been the type to handle heartbreak well. And focusing on him meant that she didn’t have to focus on herself.

She was still figuring out how she felt. And what she thought. And where she stood in the world, suddenly a widow and suddenly knowing she was alone. She felt like she was underwater most of the time, limbs heavy and lungs under pressure, and she could never quite get in enough air. Every night had been a challenge, and now they stretched out unerringly into the future.

All she could hope was that things became easier with time.

And she would find herself again.

A plaintive wail cut through the silence of the night, and Yoshino bit back fresh tears welling in her eyes. The same call came again, a longing, desperate plea for a reply that would never come again.

Shikaku’s stag had been calling out at random intervals, confused by Shikamaru’s return.

She went to the back door, opening it silently, and called softly, “Jani. Come here.”

Within seconds the stag was there, nudging at her hands, looking around her.

“Hey,” she said shakily, kneeling down and letting him nuzzle her face. “It’s okay. Don’t cry.”

She failed to heed her own advice, feeling tears start to trickle down her cheeks. They frustrated her. She was stronger than this. She was better than this. She was not some helpless damsel without a man at her side. She would get over this, she would remain strong, she would lead her clan and help her son and sleep through the night and set the table in the morning for two people, not three, and . . .

. . . And she missed her husband.

It was all well and good preparing for things like this, going through training, knowing it was always a possibility to lose the one she loved above all others, but _living it_ was different. It didn’t matter how well she had been trained to hide her emotions. It didn’t matter how good she was at suppressing what she felt. Nothing mattered, except for the fact that she had no control over her heart and soul, and she couldn’t pretend she was okay.

She wasn’t okay.

And Shikamaru wasn’t okay.

But she would do what she could to keep her feelings from him, because he needed strength, and he had always looked to her for that. So in front of him she would remain strong and poised, she would be the pillar he needed, she would show him how to move on.

Alone, though, she could let the tears stream down her face, she could let the ache in heart exist, and she could wrap her arms around Jani’s neck and let his fur catch her tears.

It would get easier, she assured herself. It would get easier, and things would improve. She just needed time. That was all.

Time, and something normal.

Shikamaru stumbled into the kitchen the next morning looking like a ghost, with dark circles under his eyes, and his hair tied sloppily. He was not in his usual shinobi attire, and Yoshino wondered if that meant he was staying home today.

“Did you sleep okay?” she asked softly.

Shikamaru did not look at her. “Guess so.”

Neither of them had, and they both knew it.

“Are you going to work today?”

Shikamaru sat down heavily, without answering. He stared listlessly at the table. Then, so softly she almost didn’t hear him, he murmured, “Jani cried all night.”

He wiped a hand roughly across his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep with all his wailing . . .”

Yoshino put a mug of tea in front of him. It felt strange. She was used to setting the table for three people. She had taken three plates from the cabinet, before realizing, and putting one back. “Are you hungry?”

He shook his head.

“You have to eat eventually.”

“I’ll go out with Chouji later.” He wouldn’t, but she didn’t call him out on it just yet. He needed time.

“Okay.” She sat down opposite him. They needed to talk, but she didn’t know what they were supposed to say to each other. Words were hollow. She couldn’t say anything that he didn’t already know. “Do you want to talk?”

He shrugged. “Nothing to say.”

There was a lot to say. They just didn’t know how.

She left Shikamaru at the table and went for a walk. Just to get out of the house, just to clear her head, just to look at something that wasn’t her house. Just to be somewhere that didn’t have Shikaku peppered all around.

Shikaku’s stag was waiting outside, head up, ears pricked, impatiently expecting the arrival of someone who was not coming home. Yoshino rubbed her hand along his back as she passed him, and, disappointed, the deer wandered off into the forest again.

She called one of the youngsters to her side; the little chestnut deer jumped enthusiastically to her, and she gave it a gentle pat. The deer, at least, were the same. They were normal, they were still there, and still themselves. They had not changed. She needed that.

The young deer stayed on her heels as she walked.

She wasn’t intending to leave the Nara compound. Heading out into the village wasn’t an option yet. She didn’t want to face everyone with their sad faces and meaningless condolences, with their ‘are you okay?’s when everyone knew the answer.

The weather was bright and sunny, and the clan members that she passed kept their distance, giving her only silent greetings. She appreciated that.

One person did not keep to himself.

She saw Enchu approaching, and almost sighed. He always had an agenda. Always wanted something, always nagging about something. Shikaku had told him not to the come to the house if she was there, because she always ended up snapping at him.

If he knew what was good for him, he would walk right on past her.

The little deer, sensing her annoyance, snorted and skittered to a halt beside her.

“Good morning,” Enchu began.

“Morning,” she replied shortly. She straightened her back, shoulders set squarely. She was a small woman, but knew for a fact that she was intimidating in her own right. She felt some of her former resolve and strength return, because she knew exactly what he was going to say, and she was going to give him hell if he pressed the issue.

Without Shikaku to stop her from escalating, all bets were off. She would punch him square in his snooty upturned nose if he so much as looked at her son.

“We should inaugurate Shikamaru as head of the clan soon,” Enchu said, predictable as always. The Nara clan might be renown for its genius, but Yoshino knew they could be dense as the Earth with certain matters.

“Not now,” Yoshino said firmly. “He has enough on his plate right now. Give him a break.”

“It has to be done soon.”

She glared at him, drawing herself up. “I am telling you this now, and I expect it to be adhered to. You are not to speak to my son without my permission. About anything. If there are clan issues, I will deal with them. But leave Shikamaru alone.”

Enchu did not look pleased. “It shouldn’t wait much longer-“

“I can handle the clan,” she growled. “I will let you know when Shikamaru is ready. That is the end of the conversation.”

It felt _damn good_ to snap at him. It felt like _before_.

Enchu huffed out a displeased breath. “Fine. We’ll talk about it again soon.” He gave her a sideways, almost sneering glare. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“I will.” She did not return his sentiment.

The young deer kicked out defiantly, and she patted his head. They walked on, wandering into the forest, and she let the peacefulness of the trees envelop her for a while. They were sturdy and strong, standing tall against everything.

The forest, at least, had not changed.

She came home to find Shikamaru asleep on the couch.

She should wake him, and get him to work, and tell him to eat something, and do all number of things that she used to do. But she knew he hadn’t been sleeping, and she was growing weary of hearing him muffle sobs into his pillow. He finally looked peaceful.

She slung a light blanket over him, closed the doors to the house so no deer would wander in, searching for treats or trouble, and left him.

A few days later, Chouza came to visit, and Yoshino sat down on the porch with him.

“How is Shikamaru?” he asked, and Yoshino wished she had a better answer for him.

“I’m not sure. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone.” She studied the forest, automatically checking everything was peaceful and calm and under control.

“What about you?” Chouza asked softly. “Do you want to talk?”

She glanced at him briefly, before lowering her gaze. There was a heavy weight inside her chest, that pressed against her heart, but after a pause she murmured, “I still reach for him at night.”

She didn’t like to admit it, because she wasn’t weak and wasn’t needy, but Chouza had known her exactly as long as she had known Shikaku, and he was kind and caring, and she needed to admit that to someone.

He nodded sympathetically. “I’m still adjusting to the idea that he’s gone as well . . .”

It must be equally hard for him, she thought. Losing both best friends, both teammates, in a single blow.

“Nothing feels real,” she said. “I don’t know what to say to Shikamaru, but I know he needs to hear something.” That was bothering her the most, that she was letting him down in his time of need. She wanted to be there for him, she wanted to be strong for him, as she had always been, but she wasn’t quite ready to be.

Chouza talked quietly about how different everything felt, how the world seemed like new. Not spring-time new, with budding flowers and growing leaves, but the kind of new that followed a devastating storm.

Good will come after the destruction.

They just needed to wait.

“Are you staying for dinner?” She wished he would. She still reached for three plates, still tried to set three places for meals.

He shook his head, though. “No. I’m needed in the village, unfortunately. Another day, perhaps?”

“I’d like that,” she said.

She went inside to a silent house. It had always been quiet – she was the loudest thing in it – but it seemed extraordinarily quiet even when she knew Shikamaru was there. He was tight lipped and unwilling to talk, and she didn’t realize how much she had grown used to the murmur of Shikaku’s voice as he lectured Shikamaru and told her about his day.

_How was the village?_ She would ask.

And he would have all manner of answers, about what the Hokage was up to, about what nonsense he and his team were doing (They were exceptionally immature when they were all together), what the younger shinobi had done (She heard all sorts of stories about Naruto), and what had gone on at work that day.

It had been their normal routine, and since the war there had been nothing normal. There had been nothing routine. There had been nothing familiar. Shikamaru had completely changed his schedule, doing his best to avoid everyone.

He had changed his working hours, heading into the office after night had fallen to carefully do everything that was needed of him, then slinking out in the early hours of the morning. He came home to sleep most of the day away, avoiding everyone possible.

Yoshino was going to allow it for a while longer, because Shikamaru needed to come to terms with his grief in his own way. And while she had heard complaints about him, Kakashi had been silent. If the Hokage didn’t have a problem with his behaviour, then she wasn’t going to nag him.

Part of her wondered if he was actually waiting for her to do exactly that. Because before all this, she would have snapped at him to man up and get over himself, and stop wallowing in his self-pity, and do better, be better. Maybe her strange behaviour was confusing him, and he was aware that she was just as lost and alone as he was.

He was waiting for her to signal that it was time for things to go back to normal, that it was time to try harder.

She didn’t know how to pull herself out of this rut, though. _Normal_ seemed far away and hard to grasp.

_Before_ was a distant memory.

Yoshino sat on the end of her bed, staring at the open closet. Shikaku’s clothes took up one half. All neatly folded, and never to be used again. And she didn’t know if she was supposed to move them out, or leave them where they were.

She didn’t know what to do, and that was an unusual feeling for her. She was grasping for something normal, some sort of routine, but the usual things had all gone. She only needed to set two places at the table for meals. She only had to straighten up half the bed covers in the morning. She had less laundry to do. Less cooking. Less of everything.

And she wanted more.

Shikamaru passed by her bedroom door, footsteps dragging slightly.

“Shikamaru.”

He backtracked a few weary steps to look at her. He was pale, and looked exhausted.

“Come here.”

He came into the room slowly, sending a cautious glance at the open closet. He sat down next to her, shoulders slumping.

“Isn’t there a shinobi alliance meeting soon?”

“I told Kakashi to send someone else in my place.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

She narrowed her eyes. “How much are you smoking?”

Without a word, he dug into a pocket on his pants and handed her a battered box of cigarettes. She tossed them onto the table beside the bed. There wasn’t much point to the gesture. He could always just go and get more.

“Why aren’t you going to the alliance meeting?”

He hesitated, then, staring at his hands and twitching his fingers nervously.

“Do you not want to see everyone from different villages?”

He shook his head, posture sinking even lower. “Didn’t want to leave you on your own.”

That answer surprised her. She hadn’t been expecting it. She stared at him, chest tightening a bit.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “You shouldn’t have to be by yourself right now.”

She had no idea what to say to him. Instead of struggling for words, she put an arm around his shoulders and drew him close. He sank into her grasp, silent and pining and listless. She studied the closet again, steeling her resolve. “I think I’m going to rearrange this bedroom.”

He nodded, but stayed silent.

She squeezed her fingers lightly into his upper arm. “And you should go back to work soon.”

She bought new sheets and covers for the bed. She had always wanted ones with flowers on them, but Shikaku had groaned and moaned and lamented and constantly complained that he didn’t want to sleep in a field of flowers (She had photos of him doing just that, and she framed one beside her bed in an act of petty vengeance.)

She changed the curtains to a lighter material, that let the light filter through a bit more easily. No reason anymore to block out every shred of sunshine. Shikaku wasn’t eking out every second of sleep.

She left the closet for now, just arranging things into a more manageable set up, and she told herself she would sort it out properly soon. When she could. When she could stand to spend hours breathing in Shikaku’s scent, which forever lingered on his clothes. She told herself it was her imagination, because she washed everything with the exact same laundry detergent, and his clothes should smell no different to hers or Shikamaru’s.

But they did.

Shikamaru wandered out the house one morning, dressed casually, and came home with cupcakes and flowers, so she assumed he had at least spoken to his teammates.

“How are Ino and Chouji?” she asked.

Shikamaru paused, putting his things down on the kitchen table. He didn’t answer immediately. “They’re okay, I guess.”

“You don’t guess.”

He shrugged, eyes falling back down to the floor. He lingered for a moment, then went out the back door.

Yoshino followed him. “Shikamaru. You have to talk to someone, eventually.”

“I know.”

“So when are you going to start?”

He settled down with his back against the big oak tree, and Shikaku’s stag came to lie down with him, head across his legs. Shikamaru stroked absently at the animal’s neck. He raised his eyes cautiously to his mother. “Kakashi said I need to start working normal hours again.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “I’ll do it soon.”

“Soon isn’t an answer, Shikamaru.” She crossed her arms and stared him down, feeling a flicker of normalcy returning to her. This was what they had _before_ – Shikamaru’s reluctance in the face of her directness. “And we need to talk about the clan as well.”

His eyes dropped down. “Can . . . can we wait, on that? For a bit longer.”

“You have to start getting back to your life. You can’t drift like this forever.”

Shikamaru tilted his head slightly, eyes on the clouds. He heaved a sigh. “It’s just . . . If they name me clan head, then . . . then Dad’s really gone. Then it’s real. Then . . . then it’s all on me. And if I go back to work, well . . . I’m not ready to be everything Dad wanted. I’m not as good as he was.”

Yoshino sat down on the grass, laying a hand on the stag. “But he is gone,” she said softly. “As hard as that is, it’s true.”

She didn’t think she had said that aloud since the war, and the words stuck slightly in her throat. She took in a shaky breath. “I know we wish that weren’t true. I know we wish that weren’t real. But it is, and this is the reality we live in now.”

Shikamaru didn’t say anything.

“The past is gone. What we have now is the future. So you need to decide what you want to make of it.” She glanced up at the sky, at the clouds drifting ahead. “That’s what we need to think about. How we want the future to pan out. Do you want to look back and see that you did nothing while Konoha struggled to recover from a war? Do you want to look back and see that you left your clan without a leader because you didn’t want to let the past go?”

She reached a hand towards him, laying it on his shoulder. One hand on her son, one hand on Shikaku’s stag. “Where do you want the future to take you?”

He heaved a sigh, stared at the clouds, stared at the ground. “. . . I don’t know.”

“You’re a smart boy. You know.” She squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Moving on does not mean abandoning your father’s memory. It’s honouring it. It’s doing the things he believed you could do – making the world a better place.”

“Protect the king,” Shikamaru murmured.

Yoshino’s expression softened. “Exactly. So, you need to make sure the world is a safe place for the future generations. You can do it. I know you think you’re not as good or as talented as people like Naruto, but you are. So, what does your future look like?”

He stared at the stag laying across him, gently stroking a hand across thick, mahogany fur. After a while, he answered softly, “Gotta help Naruto be Hokage. Gotta make sure Kakashi doesn’t slack off too much. Gotta keep the shinobi alliance strong. Gotta protect Asuma’s child.”

“There’s a lot for you still to do,” Yoshino said. “So you can’t give up. You have a life to live. That is the gift your father left you.”

He blinked a few times, eyes shining.

“Things won’t go back to normal,” Yoshino added softly. “We don’t have that anymore. We need to find a new normal. We need to seek out different comforts, different routines. Nothing is the same.”

She knew that all in her heart, but it was still hard to say. Shikaku was gone. And he took with him all the typical things in her life – waking up to him, leaning into him when they sat together, long talks on the porch, walks through the village, the same nagging about the same habits, both of them too stubborn to attempt a different tactic . . . Her regularity was gone.

It was time to make peace with that. All she had was memories, but they were beautiful memories.

“Come inside,” she said, standing up. “I’ll play shogi with you.”

“I can beat you easily,” Shikamaru replied, a trace of his former self peeking through, confident in his mental prowess.

She raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe I’ll let you win.”

He needed the win more than she did.

Shikamaru was up before her the next morning.

Yoshino came into the kitchen to see him already sipping coffee by the open door, watching the deer. “You’re up early.”

He didn’t look away from the deer. “Have to go to work.”

“Good. Would you like some breakfast?”

Small steps, she thought. Small steps back to normal.

Shikamaru stared into his coffee mug. “Already ate.”

It didn’t sound like a lie, so she let it go. She made herself tea, watched her son from the corner of her eye, and was suddenly aware that the sun was warm. She hadn’t been aware of it lately, but now it was there, and comforting.

Shikamaru brushed past her to put his mug down, and she set hers on the table and followed him to the front door.

“Do you want me to bring you lunch later?” she asked. It was outside of the norm for them, but she had done it many a time for Shikaku.

He shook his head. “I’ll be . . . I won’t be in the office for lunch. Got stuff to do.”

“Okay.”

He paused at the front door, looking at her, thinking and calculating. Whatever he wanted to say, he kept it to himself.

“Shikamaru.”

“Yeah?”

She cupped her hands around his cheeks, holding him steady. She had to stand on the tips of her toes to do it, and she wondered when exactly he had grown so tall. He was tense and uncertain, dark eyes looking searchingly at her. “It’s going to be alright. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it will.”

“I know,” he said.

“Don’t be late home for dinner,” she said, offering him what felt like her first genuine smile in ages.

He didn’t quite smile back, but his tense expression softened a bit.

She pulled him down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, only to have him duck out of her grasp with a groan, “Ugh, _Mom_ , no.”

She let him go, smile broadening at his indignation. He went off muttering to himself, shoving his hands in his pockets, and it was _normal_. She watched him until he disappeared from sight, and, feeling lighter than ever, she decided to do something with her day instead of staying home.

For the first time since Shikaku had died, she went into the village. She had no real goals in mind, just to breathe in the fresh air and look at a village trying to right itself after a terrible tragedy.

It was sunny and bright, and she could hear birds chirping. The air was pleasant and warm, and she thought of walking up the Hokage monument to look at the view. She changed her mind, though, in favour of going to the marketplace, picking out some of Shikamaru’s favourite foods. They could both use some cheering up.

She brought fresh flowers for the kitchen table, waved cheerily at people who recognized her, and generally felt herself stepping a bit lighter. Day by day, things would get easier. Day by day, she would begin to feel like herself again.

The deer were nosing around the front porch when she returned home, and she shooed them off. Always the youngsters, because Shikaku had a soft spot for young deer and tended to spoil them. He used to leave out treats and grain, feed them by hand, sit with their mothers and make sure they were all well.

She closed the door firmly, because she knew they would follow her inside since she had flowers in her hands.

She took her time cooking dinner, making everything from scratch, enjoying the peaceful domesticity of it. It reminded her of _before_ , and at any time Shikaku could walk through the door, ask how she was, grumble over something, roll his eyes, and fall into the routines they had long established.

She knew it wasn’t going to happen, but it was nice to imagine.

She had nearly finished dinner when she heard the front door open, and she glanced at the clock. Shikamaru was slightly early. She hoped he hadn’t bunked work – she had been so optimistic this morning that he had been feeling better. She was about to go and ask him, when she paused.

She could hear two voices at the door, and she wondered who Shikamaru had brought home with him. He hadn’t exactly been speaking to anyone lately. He had been drawn and sullen, and his friends had all but given up trying to pull him out of it.

She wiped her hands dry on the kitchen towel, wondering if whoever was with him was staying for dinner. It would be nice if they were.

If she could set the table for three, again.

If she could do something from _before_.

Something as simple as an extra plate.

She stayed where she was, though, waiting to see what Shikamaru would do next. It probably wasn’t Chouji, because then she would recognize his voice. And all she could hear were soft murmurs, and then Shikamaru poked his head into the kitchen.

His eyes found Yoshino’s, and his cheeks coloured slightly.

She raised an eyebrow at him, but it was making her happy to see some colour return to him, to see him look alive.

“Mom,” he said, a trace of guilt in his tone at the unexpected guest. He shrugged uneasily, flushed a bit pinker, and stared at the floor.

She waited.

“Mom,” he tried again, gesturing vaguely. “Um . . . This is Temari.”


End file.
